


Writer's Block

by snugglechesters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Cas, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Writer Castiel, bjs and rimming just mentioned not explicit if u care, i mean...there's a flimsy plot, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 13:18:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10640634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snugglechesters/pseuds/snugglechesters
Summary: Castiel's method of overcoming writer's block involves--well...coming.





	

_“Ah, ah, right there, oh”_

Sometimes, Cas worked himself too hard.

_“Fuck fuck fuuuuuck”_

He would get stuck on a certain chapter or scene, or a troublesome plot line would need fixing.

_“Keep going, don’t stop”_

He would pace and think and think and pace until his own spinning imagination became his enemy, until his rigorous work regimen stopped working in his favor and his desk became a prison.

_“Fuck, you feel so good”_

Sometimes Cas needed to get out of his head.

“ _Yes yes yes_ ”

Some people did drugs. Some people took walks. Some people slept or meditated or laid in a relaxing bath.

_“Oh God, oh my God”_

Castiel preferred to call Dean Winchester.

* * *

Cas felt bad for his neighbors. Two weeks of blissful silence, interrupted seemingly randomly in lieu of a 3-hour marathon fuck fest right above their heads. Headboard slamming, wall pounding, shit crashing to the floor, moans and screams that put pornos to shame. But what could he do? He needed to work, and Cas had found, through much trial and error, that fucking was the best way to get the ball rolling. Especially fucking Dean.

Dean was currently positioned, beautifully bare, above him and pounding into him while one hand fisted in Cas’ dark locks and the other held himself upright.

Cas was actually amazed they were still going at it. They’d moved from blow jobs on the couch, to Dean eating Cas out on the kitchen table and fucking him against the wall, to the bed, where Cas was currently whining as Dean hit his prostate on every other thrust.

“You know,” Dean panted, “I really enjoy your creative process, Mr. Novak.” He chuckled low and mischievous. “I’m truly honored to be a part of it.”

Cas huffed, scratching his nails down the other man’s back, making him groan. “Don’t get too cocky,”—Dean snickered at the word choice—“I have other sources of inspiration, trust me.”

“Oh, I’m sure you could get any ‘ _source of inspiration’_ you want,” Dean responded cheekily. “But it’s okay.” He stopped the pumping of his hips to ground circles into Cas’s ass, snaking his hand in between their bodies, flitting the backs of his fingers over the man’s cock lightly, teasing. “I like being used,” he whispered in Cas’ ear, and bit the bolt of his jaw.

“F-fuck,” Cas whimpered shakily. His breath punched out of him when Dean’s hand finally settled around the base of his dick. Dean resumed fucking into him, fast and deep, in time with the stroking of his hand.

Cas hitched his legs impossibly higher on Dean’s back and wrapped both arms around him, pulling the man impossibly closer, though still feeling like it wasn’t near close enough. His muscles were all taut, his whole body beginning to shiver, skin sticky and sweat dripping from Dean onto Cas like holy water. Heat boiled in his belly and threatened to spill over any second.

“I’m close. Dean, Dean,” Cas gasped, repeating the name like a chant, a prayer.

“M’ too,” Dean moaned into Cas’ neck, sucking a bruise into the soft skin.

Cas’ whole mind was white, tuned to this one point of focus. Nothing else mattered except the sensations rocking his whole body. His mind was empty, his mind—

“Oh shit, shit, _SHIT_ , _wait!_ Stopstop _stop_ ,” Cas suddenly squirmed away, reaching blindly behind him towards his bedside table.

“What? What is it, did I hurt you?” Dean immediately stopped, worry tingeing his voice. He slowly pulled out and leaned back as Cas scrambled to flip over and crawl across the bed, snatching his notebook and pen from the bedside table where they perpetually lay, awaiting late night ideas. Or ideas like this. Although those usually came after…well, after Dean and Cas came.

“No, of course not,” Cas replied.

“You…you got an idea?” Dean asked, disbelieving.

Cas flapped his hand dismissively behind him as an answer, concentrating on getting down every word and image that had blasted into his head.

Dean sighed, collapsing on the bed. “You fucker,” He panted, trying to calm himself down. He muttered, “Didn’t know you were into edging.”

Castiel didn’t even bother to scoff, furiously trying to get everything down. The images flowed like a vast river, Cas grasping at whatever he could reach. His hand was only so fast though, the details already beginning to slip through his fingers, his mind racing ahead of itself.

He snarled in frustration when he realized Dean was lazily stroking himself at the end of the bed. “Quit jacking off and come back here!” He swatted at Dean’s now stilled-hand. “I need to keep this train of thought going; if I think too much, I’ll lose it, I know it.”

“You sure?” Dean looked amused but hesitant. _Damn his impeccable bedroom manners._

“Yeeeeess. _Please_ ,” he added, twisting his head so he could meet Dean’s eye.

Dean must’ve finally been convinced because he chuckled and the animal glint returned to his eyes. “Alright, since you’re beggin’.”

“Hardly,” Cas muttered, returning to his scrawling, but he shivered as Dean slowly made his way up Cas’ body: hands soothing his calves, fingers and lips worshipping his thick thighs, a playful bite on his cheek, and finally, _finally_ , arms wrapping across his back to hold him in place as Dean slid easily back into him.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, letting his head drop to the bed for a moment, blindly writing, arms burning. Cas grabbed a pillow and tucked it under his cheek to make the position a bit comfier.

Dean kept up a brutal pace, biting his neck and letting his hands roam all over, making Cas practically go cross-eyed. He frantically wrote the words as they came tumbling into his mind, little “Ah ah ah’s” rhythmically escaping his parted lips.

And he kept writing, (knowing he’d have to decipher the awful chicken-scratch later) until the scrawled letters became mere scribbles; until the pen stopped moving, only clutched tightly in Castiel’s sweating hand; until the pen dropped to the floor, forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [tumblr](http://www.snugglechesters.tumblr.com)


End file.
